Two Can Be As Bad As One
by UnwiseCow
Summary: Harry and Draco both fall ill, forcing them together for longer than either think they can bear. But for very different reasons. HPDM, Slash, Muliti-chaptered fic. Be kind.
1. Chapter 1

Two Can Be As Bad As One  
~UnwiseCow

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling and Warner Bros. I own nothing!

I

Draco left the stall of the bathroom and let the door swing shut behind him, making his way to the collection of sinks, ready to wash his hands. He glanced in the mirror as he turned on the tap, and found himself both pleased and displeased with the appearance on the surface. He wasn't unattractive of course. He knew that, as did many Slytherin girls that found themselves drooling as he walked past, or when he shot a lazy smile in their direction. No, he knew he was good looking. That wasn't what made him frown at the boy in the mirror. What made him frown was his eyes. They looked paler than usual, mere shadows of their once steely grey, now taking on a more weak, icy colour. His irises looked almost see through, they were so pale. And that was a description that could also have easily been used for his skin. His face looked incredibly gaunt. His cheekbones jutted out terribly, making him look like he hadn't eaten in weeks. His skin appeared to have been stretched over his bones, making him look even more ill, and the shadows under his eyes that threatened to dominate his cheeks didn't help any. His snowy white hair also looked unwell. He reached up a long hand and toyed a strand in between his fingers for a few moments, feeling the straw like texture, and sighing discontentedly. It was the first time he could remember properly assessing his appearance in, well, a very long time, and Merlin did he look bad. He looked for a moment longer, carefully scanning his face for any obvious signs of life, and when he found nothing that wouldn't look out of place in a coffin, he resolved to eat more, and perhaps invest in some 'wizard' foundation. He cringed at the thought. The idea would normally have seemed absurd, but it wouldn't do to continue wandering the halls of Hogwarts looking like death warmed up, and if foundation for men was what was required to stop looking so damn ill, then maybe it was just what he needed. He already got enough pitying looks from his fellow students, particularly after the news of his parents had arrived. Draco of course loathed the sympathy. Just because he was now an orphan didn't make him any weaker in himself.

Although, judging by his reflection, maybe it did.

Sighing, he began running the water for a short while, then cupped his hands below the stream, bent his head down and splashed the cold water onto his face. The coldness hit him immediately, and, all of a sudden, he was overcome by the familiar sensation that he was about to sneeze. The tickling in his nose continued for a few seconds, before he threw his head backwards, then violently forwards again, with a great "Achoo!" He grimaced at the amount of mucus he felt leave his nose and, he was sure, splatter the sink. Eyes still closed, he sighed, realising it would do no good to leave it there. He resignedly opened his weak eyes to look at the sight before him, and was slightly taken aback. The stuff covering the sink was...purple. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, needing to check that it wasn't just a trick of light. On closer inspection -though not too close, it was still gross- he could see that it was really purple. And completely covering the sink. Ugh. Maybe he really was ill. Turning back toward the cubicle to get some toilet paper to clean the mess up with, he caught sight of a flash of purple in the mirror. Oh Merlin, he didn't have it on his face did he?

When he turned to fully face the mirror, the sight he beheld made him gasp, and stagger back a few feet, slamming backwards into one of the cubicle doors. His hair was bright purple. Purple! Not the familiar ice white it had been since birth. Purple! Still with a horrified expression on his face, he cautiously stepped toward the mirror, as if it would attack him, and peered at his hair, bringing a hand up to curl through it. "Merlin..." he whispered at himself, not trusting his voice at any louder volume. He might shatter the mirrors if he screamed. Instead, all he did was gaze, dumbfounded at the brand new him that looked at him through glass, and who seemed just as shocked. The colour clashed horribly with his green and silver uniform, not to mention the way it brought out the shadows in his face even more. What the hell was wrong with him? His hair had obviously changed colour when he sneezed, but why? He needed to see Madam Pomfrey, and soon. He slipped into a cubicle and tore off a piece of toilet roll, wiped his red nose with it, flushed it, then made his way to the bathroom door, preparing to run as fast as he could to the hospital wing without being noticed. However, just as he neared the door, he was caught off guard by yet another sneeze that this time caused most of the ground to be covered in a slimy orange goo. Draco grimaced again, then, noticing the change in its colour, darted back to the mirrors to check his hair. He whimpered as he noted the change from purple to bright orange, once again running a hand through it distractedly. "Oh Merlin, help me."

Deciding that speed was of the essence he turned around quickly, ready to sprint through the corridors. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, when the main door opened, and in walked the worst person for that moment conceivable. Potter.

Potter too stopped, apparently frozen at the sight he was presented with, his eyes fixed on Draco's bright hair. The two stood completely silent for a moment, before Potter opened his mouth, ready to speak. It was then that he noticed the mucus on the floor. Draco saw his face turn to a frown, probably in disgust, and then saw his eyes travel back up to Draco's hair.

Merlin, anyone but Potter would've been preferable. Anyone at all. Draco had tried so hard to avoid Potter ever since they'd returned to school, and although he'd had to share almost every class with him, he'd managed to sit as far away from his as possible. He worked hard to keep his eyes cast downwards when they passed in the corridor, avoided any eye contact Potter, for some reason, had attempted to make in lessons, and had only spoken to him once, when he had accidentally knocked into him, and mumbled something which sounded like an apology.

He knew Potter didn't really understand why he was doing it. He could see the confusion in the stolen glances Draco made of his face. Draco had managed to convince himself that the reason he couldn't stand to look at Potter was because if he did it for too long, he might snap and curse him, and he didn't want to that, because, technically, Potter had saved his life. When really, the truth was, he didn't now what he felt when he looked at Potter any more.

When he saw that mess of black hair, or those goofy glasses, he still felt those feelings he did before the war. The contempt, the wanting to laugh and point, the mild anger he always had felt ever since he had first denied Draco's handshake all those years ago. Of course he still felt _those _feelings. But now, there was something else there. Something he couldn't quite explain. It was unlike anything he had felt before, and he wasn't certain he liked it. If anything, he despised it.

He despised the way his stomach turned, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. He despised the way his heart fluttered on the rare occasions when Draco caught a glimpse of those green eyes. He especially despised the way Potter ended up in his dreams. Never anything sordid, Merlin, that would be far too much. No, when he dreamt of Potter, he simply saw him standing there. Sometimes in a wood, sometimes in the Great Hall, occasionally in the Slytherin Dormitory. Just standing. Doing nothing. But standing.

It unnerved him greatly.

So, instead of giving what these feelings and dreams could mean any real thought, and thus conjuring the possibility that he might figure out exactly what it was he was feeling, he simply ignored it, hoping it would go away. And when he did, against his will, dwell on hit, he simply came to the conclusion it was merely gratitude. And nothing more. Certainly not anything like, well, _that._

When he managed to draw his mind back from his not too distant past, he realised he had been staring at Potter. And he didn't like what Potter looked like.

Draco saw Potter's face, and knew he was about to laugh. No, Draco couldn't deal with that. Wanting to leave before Potter burst into hysterics, he took several steps forward, ready to push his way past the dark haired boy and make his escape to the hospital wing. But, his new found illness had other ideas. Approximately half a meter away from Potter, Draco felt another sneeze bubbling beneath the surface, and before he could do anything, he sneezed all over Harry Potter.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Potter's top half almost completely covered in green mucus, from head to around mid chest height. It would have been hilarious to Draco if it hadn't have come from his own misfortune. His glasses were completely opaque, and his jumper was no more recognisable, such was the volume of goo he was covered in. The good thing was though, that he no longer looked as of he wanted to laugh. In fact, he looked as if he might vomit.

Draco noticed the colour, and turned his head sharply to glance in the mirror, already certain of what colour haired boy would be looking back at him. Sure enough, his hair was an ugly green colour, the same that a lot of Potter was.

Draco stood for a few moments, embarrassed by his 'outburst', and not wanting to look at Potter's covered form, looked down at the floor, shuffling his feet. He sniffed slightly, before mumbling his way of apologising. "I've got a cold or something," then, not noticing any difference in Potter, added "Sorry."

A few heartbeats passed, before any sort of reaction came from Potter, and when it did, it startled Draco greatly. Potter burst out laughing. LAUGHING. For Merlin's sake, what was wrong with him? He had just been covered from head to waist by the snot of his enemy, and he was laughing? Draco was at a loss for words. All he could do was stand there, gaping at Potter, silent.

After a few minutes of Potter clutching his stomach it was so funny, he straightened up, wiping tears away from underneath his glasses. When he had calmed down enough to form coherent sentences, he finally spoke since the first time he entered the room. "I think you need to get checked out. This just isn't normal." He gestured to himself, and then to the change in Draco's hair, still chuckling at the situation.

"Right..." he mumbled, still embarrassed somewhat. He took a tentative step forward, stepped around Potter and was ready to head out the door. He stopped, however, when he heard the tell tale beginnings of a sneeze from Potter. 'Oh Merlin,' he thought from just behind Potter. His fears were confirmed when he heard Potter sneeze violently, and when he turned around, he saw Potter's hair had turned bubblegum pink, and the orange on the ground had been partially covered by pink mucus. Was he seriously that contagious? All he had to do was sneeze on someone, and they instantly befell the same fate as him? Merlin.

Potter, no doubt after seeing his pink haired reflection in one of the mirrors across from him, turned slowly to face Draco, an absolutely horrified expression on his face. Draco sighed, then nodded his head in the direction of the door. He needed the Hospital Wing. Clearly Potter needed the Hospital Wing. Potter paused for a moment, then, understanding Draco's intentions, nodded, his eyes still wide and fearful. Or, at least Draco thought they would be. He couldn't tell from the amount of green covering his glasses. They both started making their way to the door, and as Harry had been moving a little quicker than Draco, they stood side by side as they opened the door to the bathroom.

Nothing could have prepared either boy for the embarrassment they felt when every student in the vicinity cast their eyes upon them. Draco, in his usual response to embarrassment, paled even more, whereas Potter turned a colour not unlike the one on top of his head. Although, Draco could only tell because he was close to the boy, and could see through various gaps in the mucus. He was sure others could only see the green goo covering Potter and not the burning red blush rapidly spreading across his cheeks. Keeping their heads bowed, they decided to move through the crowd not making eye contact, and not speaking to anyone. They moved as if deaf, not apparently hearing the comments and questions flying at them, and before they knew it, they were outside the doors of the hospital wing. They practically threw themselves through the double doors, startling Madam Pomfrey who stood on the other side. She didn't remain shocked for long, however, and quickly set about getting Draco and Potter onto beds next to each other, waving her wand and murmuring spells. She questioned each boy as to what had happened, and didn't even flinch at the mention of mucus being propelled at the chosen one. Instead, she listened intently whilst waving her wand at Potter, and clearing off the worst of the goo. She didn't succeed entirely, as it seemed there was some property in Draco's mucus that made it more resistant to magic. Potter would need to be cleaned 'manually'.

Madam Pomfrey fretted over the two for a while longer, taking temperatures and forcing them to just lie back whilst she examined them, before hurriedly moving toward her office, looking slightly worried.

Draco simply lay, startled at the speed the situation had moved with, before turning his head to glance at Potter. He too was looking startled, gazing at the spot where the older witch had just been stabbing him with her wand.

There was a pause, before Potter turned his head and his eyes met Draco's. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'Blimey!' but then, unfortunately, he sneezed again. This time his blue snot coated the white sheets covering his legs, and Draco saw his pink hair change to a royal blue.

"Ugh," was Potter's eloquent musing. Draco couldn't help but snort. Potter had never been particularly good at stringing together coherent sentences, and he didn't seem to have conjured up any ability in it since vanquishing the dark lord.

Draco internally shuddered at the memory of that day. He had detested being rescued by him, but as the only other option was death, he had no choice. Unfortunately, that meant he had no grounds on which to bully Potter when they were both back at school, and the loss of his once favoured pass time meant he very often found himself with little to do and a long time to do it in.

Even worse than that, however, was the faded ugly mark that sat on his left arm, still serving as a memory, a link to those times he so loathed. He had spent a long time looking into ways of having it removed, or covered over, or anything that would mean he could sleep for one night without the reminder that forced him to toss and turn and sweat all through each and every night. Unfortunately, such dark magic couldn't be as easily removed as ordinary tattoos, and an unfortunate wizard had to break the news to him that he would be stuck with the dark mark forever. That wizard, suffice to say, had suffered a few injuries as a result of Draco's foul mood following.

Potter decided to ignore Draco's sneer, and instead focused on wiping the goo from his hands onto the sheet in front of him.

At that point, Madam Pomfrey returned with two small vials in hand, and on seeing Potter in his state, sighed. She set the small glasses on the bedside table in between the two boys and promptly waved her wand, removing as much of the goo as possible. When the remaining mucus refused to be magicked away, a wave of her wand removed the sheet from Potter's form, and was replaced with a clean sheet she summoned from the laundry basket. Job done, she turned to Draco, and ordered him to drink the small purple vial nearest him. Sitting up in bed, he reached out, uncorked it, and sipped it gingerly. He retched instantly. It tasted foul, absolutely disgusting. There was no way he could drink the whole -

"Mr Malfoy, if that vial isn't empty by the time I return, I will tip it down your throat myself. The same goes for you Mr Potter." And without another word, she turned on her heel and headed toward her office. Draco grimaced at the small bottle, wanting nothing more than to throw the disgusting vial at the wall. He glanced across at Potter and saw he wore the same expression as himself. Potter sniffed the open bottle curiously, then pulled back immediately, making a disgusted face. Draco saw him take several deep breaths, saw him look at the bottle with a newly formed determined expression, and, to Draco's surprise, tipped it into his mouth and downed it in one.

Drake looked on, dumbstruck. How had he managed that? Well, if anyone could, of course it would be the chosen one. Not to be outdone, Draco set about doing the same.

He took a few moments to compose himself. Then drank. When the entire contents of the vial had been emptied down his throat, he gagged at the taste. Euch. He shook his head as if that would rid him of the after taste, and then, sneezed again.

Damn that woman! Could she do nothing right? Draco's bed was covered in a red muck, and he now knew that his hair had taken on a crimson colour. 'Just like a Weasley,' he thought bitterly.

Madam Pomfrey sighed once more when she returned and saw Draco's bed. "Honestly Mr Malfoy, I told you to drink it!" Draco immediately raised his hands in defence of himself, whilst she switched his cover with a clean one.

"I did! It's not my fault your bloody potion didn't work!" Draco was shocked at the accusation. He'd suffered through that potion, and it hadn't done anything? Bloody hell! Madam Pomfrey moved to the bedside table and inspected the empty vial.

"Did you drink it, or simply tip it in the goo?" She asked, exasperatedly.

"I drank it! Honestly!" Why didn't she believe him?

Sighing, and obviously disbelieving, she turned to Potter. "Well, Mr Potter, did he drink it?"

Potter nodded immediately. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey. I saw him do it." Although Draco noticed Potter seemed not to want to say it. She turned back to Draco who smirked triumphantly, although that only seemed to make her more annoyed.

"Very well then Mr Malfoy." She turned to stand at the end of both of their beds, to begin what Draco believed must be an explanation of their shared illness. "It seems you both have Aldivitis, a very rare illness that causes, as I'm sure you both are aware, the sufferer to sneeze uncontrollably, produce enormous amounts of mucus of varying colours, and change hair colour. Whilst it's not life threatening, it is rather annoying," she emphasised the last word, clearly wanting it known just how much it annoyed her, "and is very contagious. Therefore, you both must remain here until you have recovered fully, and you must have no visitors, under any circumstances. Understand?"

Both boys sat in shock at her explanation. Both of them? Together? Stuck there? For how long?

Potter decided to voice Draco's last internal question, and Pomfrey replied, "Around three weeks should do, and although it may be longer, unfortunately it will not be any shorter. Make yourselves at home boys, you're here for the long run. I'll keep you two separate from the rest of the wing, and the only people you are to come into contact with are yourselves and me. And try not to come into contact with me." She added, sighing.

Merlin, this was the worst situation imaginable. Weasley would be better than Potter. Seriously, three weeks? With Harry Potter? Just them? Nothing could be worse than this, surely?

Draco would gladly trade places with either of his parents right now, if it meant getting away from Potter. Merlin. Merlin Merlin Merlin. Three weeks alone with _him _would mess with his mind. He wasn't ready to do the inevitable thinking that would come with this situation.

No. This simply wouldn't do.

"Excuse me Madam Pomfrey, but there is no way that is happening. If you want us away from everyone else, for the sake of my sanity, and in time, yours, I suggest you keep me alone." He made no attempt to keep the threat from his voice, and he made sure to stare at her with the sort of intensity that normally terrified even brave witches and wizards. He needed to be alone, and that did not translate to alone with Potter. Strange feelings aside, there was still an extremely large part of Draco that loathed the boy. Or man, he supposed.

"As much as I hate to agree, I kinda have to." Potter's voice suddenly piping up made Draco turn to watch him, before he could stop himself. "After three hours, let alone three weeks, one of us will have killed the other." He concluded his argument by sneezing, the colour this time being an odd white colour. Draco found it very surreal seeing Potter with white hair. For a moment, all he could think was that it was good Potter wasn't born a Malfoy, because that sort of hair on him would not suit him permanently. He slapped himself mentally for thinking such an absurd thought. Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and switched Potter's sheets again.

"I'm afraid I simply do not have the room to give you both a private part of the wing. There are others in need of attention, and right now, what's important is keeping the illness localised. Spreading you out would do no good, to you or anyone else. Unfortunately, this is the way it has to be."

Draco huffed and crossed his arms across his chest angrily. The mediwitch rolled her eyes at the action, and began to turn away. "I can't believe this." He grumbled. "Stuck with Potter for three weeks."

He had been talking to himself, obviously, but Potter, with his need to eavesdrop, had obviously heard. Prying nosey prick. "Hey, it's you who got us into this mess, remember? If you hadn't bloody sneezed on me, we wouldn't be here! And do you seriously think I'm happier than you are? That I have to spend time with you? Just shut the hell up Malfoy. Stop complaining and shut the hell up."

Draco huffed some more at Potter's outburst, but said no more. Yes, it was technically his fault, but it wasn't his fault he'd been sick in the first place, had it? What right did Potter have to shout at him? Just because he was the saviour, didn't mean he wasn't a complete pillock as well.

Why was Draco the only one who could see that?

Three fucking weeks. With Potter.

Merlin.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco remained dutifully angry for the rest of the afternoon, certain to make clear that he was not happy about the situation. He kept his arms crossed across his chest, his brow furrowed in frustration, and he would every so often, mumble a few choice words he knew Potter would hear, but wouldn't understand. He wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve from acting like a child. All he knew was that it was the only way he'd ever felt able to convey his feelings in a way that his parents would understand. His ability to throw the most spectacular tantrums meant that, when his parents saw him in his current state, they would immediately appease him before his mood developed to the 'throwing-things' stage.

Neither Madam Pomfrey or Potter seemed to be even aware that his state could develop that far. Either that or they didn't care. He suspected it may have been the latter, because very few people seemed to care about him at all. Certainly Madam Pomfrey always seemed reluctant to change his sheets whenever he sneezed, whereas she seemed almost grateful at the opportunity to do the same to Potter.

Draco glanced over to the bed to his left, keen to see the reaction his mood was provoking from Potter. He clenched his jaw when he saw that he was sat up, book in hand, barely registering Draco's existence. What was worse was that Potter didn't even seem interested in the book. His eyes were dull, not shining like they were when he spoke to his friends, and his lids were heavy, as if threatening to give way any second. It seemed that Potter was only reading to have an excuse to ignore Draco. Prat.

Draco drew his eyes away from the vast expanse of silver hair atop his head in time to see Madam Pomfrey head towards them. She was carrying four vials which she set gingerly down on the table between the two beds. "Okay boys, you know the drill." Draco grimaced at the sight of those ugly little bottles. Every half hour, Madam Pomfrey had arrived with another concoction of medicines and potions, which she forced the two boys to drink. Every single one had been shockingly disgusting. Without exception.

Draco especially hated taking the medicine, because Potter didn't seem to struggle with them at all. Draco could tell from his face that he didn't like the taste, but he didn't gag or splutter the way Draco did. He just drank the vile stuff without complaint.

This angered Draco greatly, for whenever he attempted to drink the, often lumpy, liquids, he always managed to humiliate himself, gagging, coughing, and turning red, very often whilst clutching his throat.

He hated the idea that he could ever be worse at anything than Potter, but it seemed this was one talent that Draco didn't possess, that Potter did. He watched as Potter grabbed the bottle next to him, uncorked it, paused for a moment, then, in the same way he had done for the last four hours, swung it back down his throat, downing it in one. Draco watched from the corner of his eye, the way he always did, and saw his neck extend, saw his Adam's Apple bob as he swallowed, and saw his pasty skin glisten with the few beads of sweat that came with the illness. He always had to catch himself before he turned his head fully to openly stare for the few seconds the glorious moments lasted. He could imagine the merciless teasing Draco would have to endure if Potter thought he was in anyway attracted to him.

Wait, he wasn't attracted to Potter was he? Oh, yeah, he was.

Before he knew it, Potter had finished the second vial, and Draco was half glad, half disappointed to see Potter shudder at the taste. Glad because it meant Potter was able to show weakness. Disappointed because if that was Potter's response, Draco would probably throw up the mixture.

Huffing in his usual manner, Draco reached out for the first, less disgusting bottle. He managed to drink it with limited whimpering, and although Draco was oddly pleased with his courage, he still saw Potter smirk at him. Prick. The second potion was so much worse than the first. Draco was certain Madam Pomfrey had simply boiled slugs in vomit, then labelled it medicine. He coughed, spluttered, choked and shuddered, and he had to clutch at his stomach to stop himself heaving.

Potter continued to smirk at his misfortune, and if Draco wasn't so tired and so damn ill, he would have leapt out of bed and hexed the smug bastard into next week. Or at least he told himself that. Instead, he shot Potter one if his dirtiest stares, hoping to instil some fear into the most annoying boy in the world, and hissed "Shut up, Potter."

Potter held up his hands in defence and, deliberately disobeying Draco's order, said, "I never said a word." Draco's eyes narrowed, and he was about to come up with the most brilliant, intelligent, witty insult in the world, when the familiar sensation overtook him, and he sneezed violently onto his blanket.

He heard Madam Pomfrey sigh from her office, heard the familiar scare of her chair, and before long she was at the end of his bed, waving her wand, and replacing the gunk covered sheets. Draco could tell his hair was now a beigey colour, and his only comfort was that it wasn't as absolutely outrages as the rainbow of colours that had found their way to the top of his head.

Both he and Potter had been sneezing an awful lot in the short space of time they had been in the Hospital Wing, and Draco had seen Potter's hair change into around eighteen colours, and knew his own hair had been twenty-four colours. Not that he'd been keeping track or anything.

Madam Pomfrey stood in her regular position at the end of their two beds, and began to talk. "Okay boys, I don't think I need to tell you how much of a strain your illness is on my already heavy work load, so I think you should both start to clean yourselves up. Draco," she turned to face him directly, "Whenever Harry sneezes, simply use Wingardium Leviosa on the sheet, and levitate it to the basket on the right. Then summon a clean one. And it is important to say clean, Mr Malfoy." Honestly! She acted like he was thick or something. "Mr Potter, do the same for Draco. If anything gets anywhere other than the blanket, you can use the wash cloths on the table." She nodded to the large stone basin that rested on the even larger table that had become a sort of hub for them all. Inside, Draco knew, was two white wash cloths, charmed, so they were constantly cleaning themselves.

Both boys nodded simultaneously, and Madam Pomfrey, apparently satisfied, nodded back to them, and turned and left. Silence fell over them both for a few minutes, where neither could think of anything to say.

After a short while, Draco, in typical fashion, turned his head sharply to Potter, and said, "I'm not your slave you know." Potter turned to face him, and looked perplexed at the statement. Honestly, it wasn't difficult.

"Why would you say that?" He asked, cocking his head to one side.

"Because I'm not, Potter. So why should I help you clean up?" Draco huffed. He didn't want to help Potter. Because if he helped Potter, Potter would help him, and then that would make him feel like he owed Potter for that as well. He didn't want to be anymore indebted to Potter than he already was.

Of course, there was no way he would tell Potter that. He would make it look like a pride thing, and he knew Potter wouldn't question that. Malfoy pride was well known, even by imbeciles like Potter. No one would doubt that it was his reason behind his reluctance to help Potter.

"I know you're not my slave, Malfoy. You don't have to be someone's slave to help them." He fixed his gaze on Draco, clearly watching for his reaction. "What's wrong with helping people?"

Draco pounced immediately with his answer, almost growling. "I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys don't help people."

"No kidding."

That was his reply? 'No kidding'? He glared as Potter leaned back into his pillow, grabbing his book and opening it, effectively ending their 'conversation'.

Draco crossed his arms again, removing his gaze from Potter and staring straight ahead angrily. He was especially angry that Potter even had a book. Potter had visited the bathroom in between lessons, so had all his books with him, whereas Draco had a free period, so didn't have anything with him other than his wand. Well, there was certainly no way he was letting Potter enjoy himself whilst he was bored stiff. No way.

"You're not that great, you know." Draco continued looking straight ahead as he spoke, jaw still clenched. He heard Potter sigh next to him.

"What is your problem? Seriously Malfoy, what is your problem with me?" Draco was a little startled by the aggressive tone of his voice, and couldn't help but turn to face him. Potter had set his book closed on his lap in front of him, and was glaring at Draco with a look in his eyes that told Draco he wasn't to be messed with.

Draco opened his mouth with the best of intentions, planning to insult Potter to the best of his ability, but found each word caught in his throat, now willing to leave the confines of his mouth. Instead, all he said was a strangled, "Err..."

Potter raised his eyebrows, and in turn opened his own mouth, Draco feared, ready to make some reproachful remark. Before Potter had a chance to say his piece, however, an stomach churning screeching sound came from what Draco knew to be the entrance.

"Is he okay? He's okay, isn't he? Can we see him?" Draco recognised the annoying voice to be that of Granger, and could only assume she was with her Weasley lap dog, asking for Potter. He saw Potter's ears prick up, and he raised his head, eagerly awaiting more of that dreadful voice.

All that replied was Madam Pomfrey's calm voice. "I'm sorry Miss Granger, but no one may see either boy for quite a long time. Mr Potter is quite infectious."

"Yeah but," this time the voice was Weasley's, "surely we could, just for a bit. I mean, it's not like we're gonna go in and snog him." A joke, Draco thought bitterly, presented in a way that would seal their fate regarding Potter. Madam Pomfrey wasn't really one known for her sense of humour. But unfortunately, that one statement sent a whole series of events spiralling through Draco's mind, in which Weasley barged his way past Madam Pomfrey and ran to Potter's bed, leaning over him and kissing him senseless., before climbing under the covers with him and-

Draco tried to shake the feeling of jealousy away, telling himself that it wasn't even real. Stupid, feeling jealous over Potter in his own imagination.

"No means no. The only reason I'm allowed anywhere near him is because I've suffered the illness before. Have either of you had Aldivitis before?" Draco could imagine Madam Pomfrey's eyebrow had been raised sceptically.

Weasley was the first to speak. "Umm, yeah, I have."

Draco's attention was caught by Potter's soft chuckle. Draco found it oddly sweet. Annoyingly sweet, but sweet none the less.

"Nice try Mr Weasley. Now if you two would kindly leave my Hospital Wing, I have patients to attend to."

Draco saw Potter's face fall ever so slightly, and then heard the groans of the two people who were now apparently leaving. Draco smirked at Potter's disappointment. And Potter saw him do so.

"At least I have friends who want to visit me. Where are your friends, huh?"

Draco's heart dropped to his stomach, and he was certain Potter saw his face fall ever so slightly because, as much as he hated to admit it, Potter was right. Draco didn't really have any friends, not any more. Long gone were the days when he would have an entire entourage follow him round, worshipping the ground he walked on, and even longer gone were the days when he felt he could call any of them friends. Most of the Slytherins who he had ever called 'friend' hadn't even attempted to make contact with him since the war, or even since their return to Hogwarts. They simply existed in the same house, moving alongside each other, acting like strangers. Blaise was the only one who had remained even close to friends with Draco, and everyone knew Blaise had better friends than Draco.

No one would give him a second thought.

The moments that had passed in silence since his statement obviously made Potter realise the effect it had had on Draco, and he seemed to regret having said anything at all.

"Sorry," he muttered quietly. Draco looked up, not expecting to hear an apology. He saw Potter with his head slightly lowered, his hands fumbling with his blanket. He looked somehow vulnerable.

"Guess I deserve it, right Potter?" Harry looked up and caught Draco's eyes, just as he smirked. Potter opened his mouth, ready to speak, but close it again when Draco, in regular fashion, sneezed out a turquoise colour. Grimacing at the colour he knew his hair now to be, he groaned at the feeling of the gooey blanket. He turned to Potter again, who seemed oblivious to his condition, nose back in his book.

"Potter."

"Hmm?"

"Potter."

"What?"

"I sneezed, Potter."

"Really? That's nice."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the boy in the bed next to him, anger building inside him. "Clean me up, Potter." He practically growled Potter's name.

"I thought you were a Malfoy," he said, never looking up from the pages.

"I said Malfoys don't help people, not that they're not helped."

Harry snorted into the book, still not looking up. "I help you, you help me. That's the deal."

"Fine, I'll do it myself," Draco muttered. Pulling out his wand, he murmured the incantation. Then collapsed back onto his pillows when it did absolutely nothing.

"You know that won't work." Potter practically laughed at him from his bed. "Remember?" The bastard smirked.

Of course Draco remembered. He had just hoped that Madam Pomfrey was wrong in her 'knowledge' that the wizard who expelled the mucus could have no magical effect on it whatsoever. Stupid, stupid disease.

"Shut it Potter, I'm perfectly aware of the circumstances." Despite himself, he tried again, and, even though he knew he would, still cursed under his breath when he failed. Shiiiit, he didn't want to call Madam Pomfrey over. She would not be happy if she found herself having to clear them both up again. "Come on Potter, don't be a complete bastard."

"No, I think I'll just be a partial bastard."

"Potter!"

"Malfoy, unless you want to piss Madam Pomfrey off by making her carry on cleaning us, which I do not want to happen, you're simply going to have to accept that for me to help you, you have to help me."

Annoyingly, Potter was right, and Draco knew it. The last thing he wanted was to admit defeat and give in, but it seemed like he was left with very few other options. One of which involved facing Madam Pomfrey's wrath. He figured at least Potter wouldn't moan as much as Madam Pomfrey, because he was going through the same thing. Fine.

"Fine." Draco stated simply.

"Fine?" Potter asked, eyebrows raised.

"Fine, I'll help you. Now just get this bloody thing off me."

Without a second glance, Potter's wand was out, being flicked gently, and Draco felt the blanket lift off him, then saw it float slowly to the laundry basket, then drop in. Harry wasn't even really concentrating, still reading whilst lazily holding his wand in mid air. Potter must have summoned the next blanket silently, because all of a sudden his legs were covered.

"There," Draco snarled, "that wasn't so hard, was it."

Potter laughed again, then said under his breath, "Prat."


End file.
